


lookin' like that, make a gentleman stare

by discountwhore



Series: one genetically engineered supersoldier, an amnesiac whose having a bad day and a partridge in a pear tree [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Brownies, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes doesn't think things through, Bucky Barnes is unnerved by a porch swing, Explicit Language, Fluffy Ending, M/M, PTSD — mentioned, Steve Rogers has a victorian style house and no one can tell me otherwise, Steve Rogers has tiny potted plants, Steve Rogers likes embarrassing music, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-03
Updated: 2016-09-03
Packaged: 2018-08-12 17:48:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7943608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/discountwhore/pseuds/discountwhore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a completely necessary "I'm a criminal and tried to break into your house but you were up eating brownies out of the pan in the kitchen and you panicked and offered me some so now I'm sharing brownies with a hot guy at two in the morning this wasn't how this was supposed to pan out" stucky au because we all know we needed it</p>
            </blockquote>





	lookin' like that, make a gentleman stare

**Author's Note:**

> hello, you sinners.
> 
> all my work is unbeta'd, so if you spot any mistakes, I'm super sorry aaaah
> 
> comments are a writer's best friend, m'lovelies ♥

* * *

 

 

Bucky glanced down at the watch wrapped tightly around his wrist.  
It read _2:15 AM_ in angry red letters. Better get this shit over with.

The house was a cozy little victorian-stye cottage.  
Perfectly trimmed bushes lined the front yard like a fence, a dim porch light illuminating the little walkway and giving the light blue paint an overcast. It was complete with five freshly painted red steps, a tiny potted plant on the side and out of the way on each one. The chains to a hanging bench creaked from the patio, the breeze pushing it softly. Bucky glared at it, unnerved.

He was clad in a jet black bodysuit, and his prosthetic arm creaked under the heavy fabric when he reached up and tugged the matching black bandanna around the lower half of his face, tying it around his ears and pushing his unruly brunet locks into a ponytail. He took a long, shuttering breath, and drew a _.44 Magnum_ pistol from the belt around his waist. As far as he knew, a retired soldier had moved into this home about four weeks ago. He was young and from Brooklyn — why anyone would leave the big apple to come to a shitty little town in Chicago, it was beyond him — and most importantly, alone. Bucky had to hand it to him, though — being an ex-soldier himself, he knew picking up and starting over was about one of the hardest things to do. And fuck, if Bucky didn't envy the man for doing so.

The white and red striped mailbox (the tiny red flag was painted blue, with intricate little stars) rattled when he accidentally shouldered it, and he cursed his nerves. Even after all these years, especially after all these years, wielding a gun still scared the shit out of him. He didn't want to hurt anyone, not anymore. But sometimes you have to do shit you don't wanna do, like robbing a poor ex-soldier's house just to keep up with goddamn rent. His boots didn't clack against the stone walkway, and the steps didn't creak under his foot, and no tiny potted plants were knocked about in his clumsy way, so far, so kinda good.

He picked the lock with ease, which kind of scared him, because nothing is ever _easy_ for him, but once he stepped foot inside the smell of freshly baked brownies and the sound of awful singing to _Feisty_ by Jhameel flooded his senses and in one glorifying moment, Bucky realized he'd fucked up because _I'm an ex-soldier too how could I not of thought of PTSD driven insomnia I'm such a fucking useless paperclip what the actual fuck_ and in another moment he was locking eyes with a man.

A man who stood in his kitchen doorway, shocked, who had been previously sliding over the tile floors in his ridiculous _Star Wars_ socks. A man who was wearing _goddamn red white and blue boxer briefs_ , and had abs that _killed_ Bucky's ego. Completely slaughtered it. _KO_ 'd.

The man had flecks of flour in his honey blond hair, and Bucky couldn't even find it in him to panic at being caught because, "are you eating brownies straight out of the pan?"

The man's response was to chew, very slowly, and avert his eyes to the gun in Bucky's hand.

It was funny, Bucky thought, how you could see emotions so plainly on some people's faces. Bucky watched this man's slow comprehension of the situation in the following order of _shock, fear, acceptance_ and _I'm just gonna stand here and raise my eyebrows at you like I'm not even fazed by the fact that you, a masked stranger, is holding a possibly loaded pistol at my feet. Fight me, I dare you. Meet me in the pit, 1v1._

This was possibly the most awkward moment in all of Bucky's young life.  
Playing strip poker back in Budapest with his army friend Natasha, call sign _"Black Widow"_   Romanova had to be less mortifying than having a staring competition with a man who you were about to rob, to the tune of _Feisty_ still playing in the background. It really put things into perspective.  
James Buchanan _"Winter Soldier_ " Barnes was a fucking moron.

And when he thought that this couldn't possibly get worse (lets be real, it always does), the blond's tough guy facade seemed to crack and he panicked, shuffling his feet and looking around wildly, and Bucky truly thought he was going to do something stupid, like run or pull out a baseball bat out of god knows where, but the idiot thrusts the pan of brownies out in front of him and hangs his head down and says, "do you want some?" and it is possibly the dumbest thing Bucky has ever heard in his life, tops. Or the cutest, despite the bizarre situation. It's up for debate.

Bucky lowers his gun, scratches the back of his neck with the barrel, and shifts his weight to the other foot. "I guess," he says, and the words have the man's head snapping up, eyes as wide as half dollar coins and as blue as pacific opal. A full minute passed. Bucky would know, he counted the seconds.

"Do you have any allergies?"

Bucky shakes his head.

"These have nuts in them, so I figured I'd ask. I'm, uh, Steve."

"I can't stand pecans, they make me nauseous, and my name is Ja— um, yeah."

Steve backed up into the kitchen, and Bucky followed.

"There's peanuts and cashews, no pecans. And come again?"

Bucky leaned awkwardly on the counter, slipping his gun into the holster at his waist but keeping a hand on the knife at his thigh. "I said my name is Bucky."

Steve reached over and pressed the _cancel_ button on the oven and Bucky idly wondered how often he forgot to turn it off, watching Steve stand on his tiptoes to retrieve two glass plates and a two mugs from a cupboard up high.

"Is coffee okay?"

"It's two in the morning."

"Decaf, then."

Steve still seemed a bit wary turning his back to him, but Bucky figured that he realized he didn't really have much of a choice because he went about carving out two uneven slices of brownies from the side of the pan he hadn't eaten out of, and when he turned his back to reheat the coffee in the pot, Bucky snatched the plate with the larger piece.

They didn't talk much after that, except for the occasional _"is the coffee okay?"_ or _"do you want another brownie?"_ (Bucky said yes to both). After all, what could a robber exactly discuss with the man who caught him robbing? The weather? Bucky's favorite movie (which happened to be _My Own Private Idaho_ ), or maybe Steve's social life?

Steve tried to steal glances every time Bucky lifted his bandanna up just enough to slip a forkful of brownie in his mouth, but Bucky was stubborn.

The sound of forks _clink_ ing against plates and mugs being sat back down and the soft hum of _Feisty_ on repeat calmed them both down and after a while, when Steve was setting their dishes in the sink and Bucky was trying to figure out if he should make a run for it and call it a strange ass night or actually rob this man because he _did_ still need rent money, there was a soft rapping on the front door.

Steve moved the curtains of the kitchen window to peek out and mouthed _"police"_ at Bucky, gently prodding him towards the pantry, and went to answer it.

A Chicago police officer told him one of his neighbors had called in to report seeing an _odd man_ hanging around the neighborhood, and to be careful.

By the time he left and Steve returned to the kitchen, his back door was open and banging softly against the frame in the wind.  
One of the pieces of paper from the magnetic notepad on his fridge had been torn off and set on his countertop. It read, _"sorry I tried to rob you. and about the brownies._ " and Steve laughed a little to himself when he found that his pan of brownies had been stolen.

Bucky came back three nights later, and every night after that, Steve kept coffee in the pot and sometimes Bucky would bring brownie mix.  
On the seventeenth night, Bucky started showing up during the day, in loosely fitting t-shirts and skinny jeans instead of the bodysuit.

On the thirty-fourth night, Bucky allowed Steve to slip the bandanna off.  
And on the thirty-eighth night, Steve gave him money for rent.  
On the forty-nineth, Bucky gave up crime.

On the ninety-third night, Bucky got a job at a supermarket he used to rob and moved in with him.

On the one hundreth, twenty-first night, Bucky let Steve kiss him.

And, well, on the two hundreth, thirty-fifth night, Bucky hid a little golden ring in Steve's dumb brownie.  
And Steve said yes.

But only if Bucky promised to stop taking the bigger piece every time, and not play _Feisty_ by Jhameel at their wedding.

Bucky made no promises.  
Steve said yes anyways.


End file.
